


Come to the Faire

by OldDVS



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Almost Harry/Severus, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:36:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldDVS/pseuds/OldDVS
Summary: Harry has grown up, Voldemort is gone, and he decides it is time  to explore some wizarding traditions and his own sexuality.  Snape has survived the war and teaching, and faces some thoughts about his own future.  Time to go to the Faire.





	Come to the Faire

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think this has previously seen the light of day. It is from 2006 and is another one of those stories I began when about halfway through the books/movies that immediately became AU when the next book came out. It was originally supposed to be longer, I suspect.

Come to the Faire

 

Teaching. It was a torture so subtle and so frustrating that there was no way to explain to anyone not in the profession why one stayed with it, despite powerful reasons to not only give it up, but to flee screaming into the night. 

Inconceivable, that merely standing in a classroom and occasionally moving from table to table could induce exhaustion at the end of the day. That marking parchments filled with drivel could induce such pounding headaches. Inexplicable, that despite caring almost nothing for the mewling brats who whined and lied and cheated their way through their lessons, he could be so annoyed and frustrated by the end of the day. 

Oh, some reasons were crystal clear. The irritation of finding scribbled pages on the floor, or in the bin, pages which proved that the idiots were spending their valuable learning time writing atrocious notes or drawing insulting caricatures of their instructors. The unwashed and grubby paws that dared to touch pristine ingredients and then whinged of unfairness when a faulty potion was the result. The relentless fingers at the nose and the unsavory results wiped on the underside of the tables. It was always a satisfaction to give those particular little snots detention and assign them to cleaning the tables. Every single damn table, top and bottom.

But what was most wearing was the blank expressions, and the other subtle signs of lack of interest, combined with the apparent goal of getting through seven years of schooling with as little impact on the brain as possible. Some of the students were proud of their rebellion against learning, bragged of the ways they used to avoid absorbing knowledge of any type. It made one want to kick the little vermin, or take a book and whack them on the side of the head hard enough to get their attention. One lived in hope of making enough of a crack for knowledge to seep in. They didn't let him do that. Not that he hadn't, in his frustration, tried it once or twice. Futile, of course. It didn't work anyway.

The idiocy of the students explained the Ministry and the level of competence in the general public. Sometimes he wondered how wizarding society was going to continue at all, much less flourish. It even explained why some wizards were so set on the elimination of Muggles. It seemed certain that they would not best Muggles intellectually, and fearing to be usurped by the more powerful of the unmagical, they resorted to plain violence and thuggery. 

He had once spoken to a Muggle Studies teacher on the subject, curious to discover if Muggle students were as insufferable and inattentive. The man had sighed and confessed that he has taught school in the Muggle world for a good many years, and the students there were much the same. The man had pointed out that if only ten percent of the students were competent, the advantage the Muggles had was that there were much more of them, and there was therefore a larger pool to draw from for vital components of business and government. Wizards, he pointed out, were effectively a tiny minority, with only a few outstanding individuals matriculating each year. Most of whom, it seemed, met untimely deaths at the hands of other wizards due to the fact that magical power and brains seldom arrived paired together. Small minds containing jealousy and hands containing wands were a bad combination. 

They'd gotten drunk that night and drowned their sorrows together, and at the end of the school year when the man had been offered a job by a squib cousin in the cement business -- well, that was the end of him. Snape had been powerfully jealous. Sometimes he tried to imagine what one did when one worked in the cement business. Concrete was, after all, only a simple mixture, the most basic of potions. One obtained the components, mixed it, poured it, smoothed it and let it dry. It sounded almost soothing. Although one would need workers, and no doubt those workers had slept though their education, too. It would be just as bad as teaching, he was sure, and yet he dreamed of it.

But of course, he was at the time trapped in the business of powerful wizards who had paid attention in class, and had been unable to escape himself. Doomed to teach the reluctant and endure the dunderheads without a chance of liberation. Doomed to it for long, eighteen hour days, because he was head of his house and the mischief of teenagers never really rested. 

He was not fond of the members of his house, but he loathed the students of other houses even more, and so he stalked the hallways making sure that he thwarted certain plans for endeavors that ranged from stupid to criminal. On the stupid front were the children testing the new abilities of their changing bodies with others of like mind. In Snape's estimate, he had prevented the conception of dozens of annoying brats. Perhaps hundreds, if one added the results of his instructions about the brewing of contraceptive potions he gave the seventh year students. Way too late in some cases, but Albus wouldn't allow him to offer it earlier, curse him. 

The students he usually left alone when he found them in compromising positions were those with their same sex. Being of the persuasion himself, he knew what faced them in the wizarding word, how hard it was to find a mate in a society which put much emphasis on blood and reproduction. Let them have a few encounters and learn the basics, and not just because for some of them it was almost the only thing they learned at school. It was all they would have of their true natures before they married for the sake of societal expectations and produced one or two token children before they drifted away from domesticity to the long middle age of a wizard or witch. 

He had avoided that fate himself, but it was not because of his good sense or unusual control. No, he very stupidly studied hard in school and missed his chance. The only wizards he knew who preferred their own sex had been either young, or the Wrong Sort. Men who would have tried to own him, use him, exploit him. Slytherins at best, Death Eaters at worst. 

But now the Death Eaters were out of favor, their leader dead, their structure disrupted by the relentless efforts of Potter, the Order, and the Ministry. If he wished, he could at last do two things he had always wanted to do. Get out of teaching. Find a lover.   
The first was difficult, but not impossible. There were always potions needed, and few of his caliber to produce them. The second was more difficult, but he had always been reluctant to take the obvious step. Now he had to face it. It was time to go to the Faire.

*****

"You should go to the Faire," Hermione said, in that bossy way she had. 

Harry sighed. Ron looked over and said, "She's right, you know."

Harry sighed again. "It just...you know. The Harry Potter thing." It had been more than a year since he had defeated Voldemort, and it was still impossible to go out. The reporters had finally backed off, and no longer dogged his steps. But the everyday wizard in the street still recognized him, and either wanted to talk to him, thank him, or tell him something he should be doing different. The everyday witch in the street was trying to match him up with a friend, daughter, mother or neighbor. Or herself, of course. Which was bad enough, but the side effect of the constant sexual pressure is that Harry had come to the conclusion that he was about eighty-eight percent gay. Not very many of the women had inspired any interest. Ginny had not taken it well when he had confessed his suspicions to her, and the tentative can-I-share-my-deepest-thoughts discussion had ended in a shouting match and a spectacular break-up.

Ron and Hermione had taken it better, but at the time they had been involved in planning their own wedding. Now that things had settled down a bit, Hermione had become concerned about Harry's love life. In fact, she had started doing research. Both Ron and Harry knew this was a dangerous sign.

She was telling him, "It's in Whelton this year. The sponsors are Bron Hazelton, Brian Cooper and Stratton Hart. It starts July 10th. Did you know the gay wizards traditionally met on the first day of summer when the fair started, but now they select a date after the major wizarding schools let out? So the young men who have just reached their majority can attend. You should start getting ready now."

"How, exactly? He has dress robes." Ron pointed out. Harry had more dress robes than anyone he knew, in spite of the number he had given away. Old ladies sent him robes they had embroidered or knit themselves. Most of them were now dressing orphans and Azkaban prisoners. 

Hermione shook her head in frustration. "He has to get his cards printed, and we have to decide what they should say. And you know he has to contribute to the feast, so we need to decide what he can bring, plus you know that he'll need a different kind of robes, not like the ones he has now." 

"What's this 'We?' you keep referring to?" Ron asked, laughing. "It's Harry who has to go! Let him make his own decisions."

"So, Harry. Have you read up on the Faire? Know the traditions and the manners involved? Know how to politely decline an offer, or make one of your own?" Hermione asked. When he did not reply right away she said, "I rest my case."

"Harry can read about it if he wants to," Ron said, a rather feeble reply to his wife's argument, but he always tried to have one. Otherwise she ran over him.

"I do have a book, if you would like to borrow it, Harry."

"I've read a little about it," Harry confessed. "It said that you can't wear a glamour to the Faire. You have to come exactly as you are. You can't disguise who you are. I wanted to go looking like, you know, someone normal nobody knows. So I could attract someone as me, and not as The Boy Who Lived, or The Hero. I'll get offers, but how many will be genuine, and not just men who want...."

"Fame and money, and a decent shag?" Ron waggled his eyebrows. Harry gave him a push on the shoulder and told him to shut up. Harry blushed, too. Probably at the idea of shagging anything male. Ron and Hermione knew he hadn't actually done that yet.

"You're young and fit. You'd get offers anyway, and how would you know that these guys would be wanting anything except a chance at your body?" Hermione said. "There's risks to everyone who goes to the Faire. But I think it's very brave of them."

Ron said, "I heard it was just a chance to have sex with a lot of men. That most men aren't really there to find someone to pair up with for a year, or whatever. And that lots of guys go back every year."

"Ron!" Hermione punched him from the left and Harry whacked him from the right. He shouted and pretended to be mortally wounded until he had them both laughing. 

"Harry doesn't *have* to have sex with anyone. If he doesn't want to. You do know all the protective spells?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"And the lube spells and the relaxation spells and the quick recovery spells?" Ron asked brightly, while keeping an eye on his wife's temper. She only gave him an exasperated elbow in the ribs 

"I know them," Harry admitted, his cheeks going a little pink again. He knew them, but he'd not had much chance to use them. He was, in fact, technically a virgin. A few hand jobs and a few blow jobs didn't exactly make him experienced. He wasn't counting those few months with Ginny. What a disaster. Apparently he'd been very bad at sex, although she hadn't been rude enough to say so. He'd known. He's tried to do it differently, he'd read books. It didn't matter. He'd never gotten it right.

"Good," Hermione said. "But refresh your memory of them before you go, just in case," she said in her bossy voice. "Now, about your cards. I do have a book which tells what should be on your card, but it's fifty years old, so I think we need to check and see if the have been changes. Then we'll need to get the robes. Something modern and young, but not too revealing," she said, nodding. "Pierre's, I should think."

Ron rolled his eyes and did not make the Robes-Pierre joke the twins had made up when the store had first opened. He could see they were all thinking about it and when a snort escaped him, they all broke down into giggles. 

"Just remember to be very careful," Hermione said again when they were calm again.

"Right," said the defeater of Voldemort.

*************

"No glamours." There was a bloody armed guard at the door! A broad, six foot tall fellow with a cutlass and a scowl. The literature has said there was a guardian at the door, but Harry had assumed it was some sort of doorman. Not this huge fellow with a real sword, wands in dueling holsters, and steel-toed boots. 

"I read the Admonitions," Harry replied mildly.

The man angled an eye at Harry and studied him darkly. "I'm supposed to believe that you're Harry-bloody-Potter?"

"Why not? It's true. What you're supposed to say is, 'Welcome, Brother.' Well, that's what the book said. It was an old book," he added. Although he was doing a good job of projecting pleasant good will, underneath he was nervous and a bit irritated. "Not that I wouldn't appreciate a glamour at the moment," he added. "My friend suggested I arrive with one, and then when you banished it you would at least know why I tried it. But apparently it could get me banned from the faire for the year, and I'd have to wait an entire year for another chance. So I didn't."

The man blinked. Harry got the impression that he was trying not to goggle. 

"I don't suppose I could get special permission for a glamour?" Harry went on. "I want to actually meet some decent men, not a lot of..." Crazed, rude idiots, he wanted to say. "People who are just interested in celebrities," he finished.

"No glamours," the man repeated firmly. He took a deep breath, shrugged and said, "Welcome, Brother. Do you come in peace, with good intent?"

"I do."

"Right. For those who come here for the first time, we've added this part," he said in a normal voice. "You do know that this is not an orgy, that you will be expected to act in a civilized manner or you'll be booted out, and rape will get you castrated and thrown in the river?"

He did now. Harry nodded and said, "Yes."

"Good. Remember, no means no. You'll extend a no, or accept it, politely. Our biggest problem is you young kids not getting that soaked into the brain deep enough, so you get special warnings now, and you'll get none later."

"Well. Right. Then. Any more good advice?" Harry asked. There was no one behind him in line and, well, you never turned down the chance to gather good intelligence. He'd learned that in the war.

The man leaned on his sword and looked him up and down. "Well, just speaking personally, you look good, but losing the glasses would be a good move."

Hermione had tried to get him to try another eyesight spell, but he had bad luck with them because sometimes they failed abruptly, with no warning. He didn't want to try a new one under these conditions. "Next time," he mumbled.

"Huh. Well, you ask at Axel Garth's booth, he's the best at that sort of thing." He straightened up and asked a bit more formally, "Do you have your cards?"

Harry fumbled one from the pocket of his flashy new robes and held it out so the other could see. He didn't actually hand it over, that would have given a different message, according to Hermione's research. His card followed exactly the form in the new book she had found. Five lines were allowed. Name, Identity, Status, Owl Address, Expectations. Harry's card was white, with a border of twisted red, gold and black. His information was printed clearly in glossy black ink .

Harry Potter   
(It was in a nice script, with a flourish on the Y and the R.)

Public Figure, Apprentice Broomsmith  
(you were allowed up to three descriptions of your place in the wizarding world, but Hermione and he hadn't been able to agree on a third so they skipped it).

Novice  
(There was a choice of Novice, x and xx)

Perch 12, Box 4, Oglethrope Owl Service.

Knowledge, Amusement, Companionship, Possible Alignment.

This last line was the place where other men put their kinks, or special techniques or services they were looking for, or offering, and if they were looking for a mate for a year, which was apparently a gay wizard tradition. The term was Alignment. Just thinking about it gave Harry a funny quiver in his stomach. Hermione had made him read two books on Alignment.

"Look well enough," the guard said with a nod of approval. 

"Maybe you can tell me about the donation I'm supposed to make? Food for the feasts or money, right? Who do I give it to and when?" Harry asked.

"Inside, you go first to the registrar. Sign in, and then he'll ask you what you wish to contribute to the fair. It doesn't have to be just food or money. It can be the services of a house elf, too, you know."

Harry nodded. He did know, but in consideration for Hermione, he hadn't pursued that avenue, even though he was pretty sure it would have been easy to get Dobby to help out. It would be easy, in fact, to find himself his own elf, permanently. He got house elves popping in every month or two, volunteering to belong to his household. So far he had politely turned them all down. 

"That's fine. Look, are there any mistakes I should avoid? I don't want to look stupid my first time." He hoped his embarrassed nervousness didn't show. It should. He had a lot of it.

"Well, I shouldn't say so, but I'd avoid Mr. Lockhart if you could. He has a way of latching onto young men and it's hard to scrape him off, if you know what I mean."

"Gilderoy Lockhart?" Harry asked faintly.

"The writer? No, it's Allandro Lockhart. Cousin, I understand. Landro used to brag about the connection." 

"Anything else?"

"Well, I'd stay out of the black tent if I were you. You do know about the tents?"

"There are four of them, and sex is involved?" Harry offered, tentatively. He'd been having fantasies about those tents, ever since he'd heard of them.

"Right. If you go into a tent, you're essentially saying that is what you want. No coy simpering or outraged stomping out. Unless you want to be mocked for the rest of the faire." Harry nodded and the man went on, "The blue one is for the fellatio. The red one is the pools. For those who like their encounters uneventful, you might say. The more adventurous lads go to the yellow tent. The blood and bondage fellows are in the black tent. If you want my advice, you'll avoid those last two this year. Save something for next year, right, lad? Learn to walk before you run, you might say."

"That sounds like very good advice," Harry said. It sounded like Hermione, too. She'd given him all sorts of cautions before she'd kissed his cheek and sent him off this morning. 

"Only other advice I have is get your own drinks, or from the house elves you know. Drinks from strangers have been known to taste funny." The man straightened. There was a group coming up the path. The man opened the gate for Harry, and then closed it when Harry stepped through. He looked behind. The group of three men were in their late twenties, and fit. He thought the one in red was eyeing him in an interested manner. He turned away, not wanting to be caught staring.

On this side of the fence the way was paved with smooth stones, which soon became a series of wide and shallow steps. On either side of the path was a wild bit of garden, and at the bottom of the steps, a pavilion. He blinked his eyes as he passed under the roof into the shadow and was startled at the richness of the hangings and the luxurious carpet underfoot. Although it was outside, it still felt like a room. Carved pillars, each different, held up the high roof, and the area between was filled with gossamer curtains, held back with swags of contrasting fabric. 

A man sat before him behind a large table. There were two chairs on this side of the table. "Sit, please, and sign the register," the man invited. Harry signed his name with the quill offered to him.

"My word," said the man, who must have had the ability to read upside down. "Welcome to the Faire, Mr. Potter! We're quite honored to have you attend. Quite, yes! I am Reginald Knott. With a K. Let us see. Perhaps you know that our revelers may sleep wherever they like, and in fact are expected to, and we only rarely provide private rooms, but perhaps in your case...yes, room 12 in the house. There is a elf at the door of the building to guide you, should you decide to use it," he said, handing over a gold key. 

Harry slipped it into his robe pocket while murmuring a thank you. 

"That's out of the way, then! What do you wish to contribute to the fair?"

"First, this," Harry said, handing over a small velvet bag of galleons. Twenty had been the recommended amount. "And this," he added, pulling from his other pocket a small white box. "Some fruit and chocolate."

"Thank you, sir? Standard enlarging spell?" the man asked as he took the box.

"Yes," Harry smiled. "The shop said they had a quality guarantee and it's got a security spell on the box."

"Thank you, sir. Here is your map, a timetable of the events, and guidebook. Your shelf space is also number 12."

"My shelf space?" Harry asked.

"Located at the other end of the pavilion. A place to store your items, such as your cloak, should you wish to remain unencumbered. Or your valuables. It is keyed exclusively to you."

"Thank you!" Harry said, with weak smile. He was beginning to feel the way he had at school, when the teachers had piled too much information into his brain. 

Enjoy yourself, Harry." The three wizards who had been behind Harry at the gate were approaching, so Harry murmured another 'thank you' and moved to the tables which clustered behind the reception area. As per Hermione's instructions he read the material carefully. He studied the map, read through the list of scheduled events twice and decided to go look for his shelf. It was exactly as described, a series of shelves painted white, with a number painted on them in gold every three feet along the length. He found number 12, which was at waist height and fairly convenient and accessible, but he didn't want to put anything there at the moment. He decided to wander around a bit. Although the event had started at eight, and now it was almost noon, he deduced that most men had not yet arrived and it wasn't really going to get going until tonight. It made sense. Friday was a work day for most people. There were probably about fifteen people scattered about the pavilion, and another ten outside on the green lawn. 

After wandering around the pavilion enough to become familiar with the exits and to evaluate the defensive possibilities -- the war had been short but had left a good many lessons behind when it was over -- Harry stepped down into the garden. The wide path to the woods was lined with colorful tents and booths on each side. Flags and pennants rippled in the breeze and music came from a tent at the far end. 

Half of the venues were not open. Harry browsed the ones that were. There were souvenir stands with keychains and whistles, fans and mugs. One place sold fine china commemorative plates with a picture of the pavilion and a fluted gold edge. At one table there was a pile of faux snitches with the year incised on one side and the faire name engraved on the other. He bought three, tucking them into a pocket and understanding now about the shelf. Even shrunk down a bit, one would probably accumulate a large amount in three days, especially on the first visit. 

The vendors were pleasant, and they eyed him appreciatively and some of them flirted. Harry warmed under their attention, feeling a rising sense of excitement. This was it, he was here! Men were looking at him with warmth in their eyes, and since he kept his fringe carefully down over his forehead, he was pretty sure they were just responding o him as a young man. 

When he had taken a complete turn of the vendors he went back into the pavilion to put his purchases on his shelf, and he noted then that there were a lot more people lined up at the registrar. He went down the steps to the vendor's path again, since he noticed that another booth was opening up, and he spent several minutes trying not to let his eyes fall out of his skull as he studied a display of dildos. They were spelled to move in...fascinating ways.

"I don't believe I've seen you before," came a voice behind him, and he turned to see an older man in yellow robes standing behind him. The eyes lifted up to his face, and Harry was pretty sure the man had been checking out his arse. 

"You haven't," Harry said. He made his voice friendly but not too inviting. Hermione had coached him on that, too. 

"You'll find it pleasant. Have you taken a walk in the woods, yet?"

Harry knew what that meant. It was what he came here for, of course, and yet he didn't want his first time to be with this man, who had a tired and jaded look around the eyes. When Harry had envisioned this, he'd had someone younger, and frankly, better looking, in mind. So he said, "I'm just shopping right now, I'm afraid."

"I know what you're waiting for," the man said with a smile, his head tilting towards a series of booths which were still closed, the bright cloths pulled down tight over the entrances. Each of the cloths was embossed with a crest, symbol, or name, except the one on the end. 

Harry decided to pretend he knew what the man was talking about. 

"Those won't open until after lunch," the man continued. "Perhaps you'll do me the honor of sharing a table?" he asked, gesturing towards the pavilion. "I'm Teddy, by the way."

Harry said, "Harry," and looked at the direction indicated. That should be safe enough. The tables were round and had four, six or eight chairs around them. "Thanks, lunch sounds good," and walked beside the man up the few steps and into the shade. Only then did he realize it had been rather warm in the sun. 

"Perhaps that table?" his companion said, pointing out one set for eight. Harry nodded and they settled down there, and soon in ones and twos, others joined them. His companion was the chatty sort, pointing out people who must have been of interest, but as Harry didn't know any of them, he wasn't sure if he would remember any of the names.

Harry was glad to have the others as models, and he got through the meal quite easily. The center of each table held platters of food, all of it delicious. Teddy discovered he had friends in common with the man on his other side, and before the meal was over, Harry was aware that the man's interest had shifted that way. 

Harry even made a trip to the toilet without any problems. He had expected to find some sort of orgy going on in the there, but it was just an ordinary place, except that perhaps the soap and bog roll were of a better quality than he was used to, and there was a bowl of Muggle condoms on a small wooden table near the door. He took one, wondering if their use was expected, for some reason, and slid it into his pocket. Then he thought about it, stepped back and took another. 

"Hello! There you are!" The young man leaning against the wall straightened up when he saw Harry come out. At Harry's inquiring look he said, "My uncle Reg described you and said that you were very, very fresh meat. And because he knows that I was new just last year and know how it is, he suggested that I offer to show you around. Shall we say." He waggled his eyebrows just like Ron did sometimes, which brought a grin to Harry's lips. "Do you want to go for a walk in the woods?" 

Harry smiled at the tall, fit bloke with the tumbled brown curls and dancing eyes and it was easy for him to say, "I would like that." He knew what a walk in the woods meant.

"Excellent. I'm Richard. At home, I'm Dick, but I don't use that name at the faire. Everyone makes the same jokes, and it gets tired so quickly!"

"Harry," Harry said, and to his surprise the other took his hand and pulled him along, not releasing it as he led the way to the nearest break in the curtains. There were no steps at this point, but it was easy enough to jump down to the lawn. It was only about an eighteen inch drop, and Harry laughed when they accomplished it without letting go. They wandered across the lawn towards the trees.

"It's not a real wood, of course," Richard was saying. "It's cleverly designed to make as many little chambers and nooks and grottos as possible, so that it seems you're alone and actually there's someone only a few feet away. Silencing spells are optional. Did you bring oil?"

"Oil?" 

"Oh, right, the tents aren't open yet. Well, you buy a bottle of your favorite oil and carry it with you. In the tents there are those fancy fountains of the stuff, but out here, you bring your own. Never know what the other bloke will fancy, eh? Vonnie Ender has this horrible cinnamon blend. Everyone should at least try it with a man hung like that, my uncle says, but bring along your own!"

"Did you?" Harry asked curiously.

"Try him? Not yet." Richard blushed and said, "I didn't. I was too shy to ask him. But this year, I might! This year," he added, "I've got an idea of what I want to do. Last year, I just wanted to lose the cherry orchard. I'd never done anything!"

Harry, who had an orchard of his own to eliminate, said nothing. They were following a tiny path through the trees. 

Richard drew him left. "It's early, so...Yes! We have the treehouse!" He let go of Harry's hand to swarm up the old oak to a platform about six feet off the ground. "I heard about this last year," he said, his hand patting the thick soft rug that covered the smooth platform. "If you fuck me hard enough, all the branches will shake!" As he spoke he threw aside his robe and began unfastening his trousers. 

Harry had always imagined something...different. Not necessarily romantic, but slower. Before he knew it, the other man was naked. 

"Aren't you going to take your clothing off?" Richard said over his shoulder, pulling a pillow from the nook behind him. "You're my first of the faire. I've already oiled up, I'm so ready! Here," he fumbled among his garments and produced a small jar. "Use mine."

Harry was out of his clothing as fast as his trembling fingers could manage, but it seemed to take forever. "You do know I've never done this before?" he said as he pulled off his pants.

"You don't need those here. No one wears them," Richard said, and to Harry's surprise he took them from his hands and flung them out and into the branches of the next tree, where they waved like a brave flag in the light breeze.

"Richard!" Harry laughed, kneeling by the long pale body and letting his eyes feast. There was a forest of brown curls chasing down to the groin, where an awakening cock dipped and then rose a little higher. The long fingers opened the green jar and emerged dripping and then they wound around Harry's own firming cock. The fingers were skillful, and Harry could hardly think. He was panting like a racehorse when Richard finally turned over. 

"Do it this way," he said, and Harry was shaking as he awkwardly moved into place over the lifted arse. He fumbled, Richard laughed, and whispered instructions, and with a wiggle at a most strategic time, Harry found himself sinking between the round globes of Richard's lovely arse, constriction and heat causing him to flush and pause, feeling it give way before him. Harry experimented, moving back and forth as he tried to find the best angle.

Richard was making happy noises, which became louder and happier. Too much. Harry convulsed and emptied himself, entirely too early. He groaned as he hunched hard and froze.

"Agh!" Richard cried out in frustration as Harry pulled out and sprawled onto the soft rug. He was trying to work out enough breath to apologize for his poor showing when the leaves of the tree began to shake. He watched as a wizard swung himself up to the platform, his hands already opening his robe and pulling loose the laces which fastened his trousers. 

The newcomer said, "Let me finish you off?" Richard made a sound of agreement and lifted his nice bottom a bit higher in the air. 

Harry leaned back against the bole of the tree and watched, his eyes wide, as the man whispered a spell and went right to work. Harry's huge eyes watched the large cock as it sank out of sight. Richard made a whimpering sound, probably because this man was bigger than Harry, and Harry echoed the sound because watching this had pegged his eyes open so wide that he felt the dryness and forced himself to blink. Richard was naked, and the mostly clothed man hid part of that nakedness and made the contrast seem so stark. 

The man taking Richard was vocal, grunting softly at each thrust, the thud of body meeting body a faint echo of the guttural sound. The gasp and sigh of the younger man blended in, and it was like music, a rising, stronger sound coming as a hand reached around under and did something Harry couldn't see to Richard's cock. Richard wailed, the man hunched faster, and entirely too soon it was over. The two lay for a moment, before Richard made the sound that said the man was too heavy.

Harry watched with huge eyes as the man pulled from the slighter body, The squelching sound was loud and the man laughed, cast a spell in the direction of Richard's reddened butt, and then at himself. 

"Nice," the man said, and pulling two of his cards from his pouch, he scrawled a message on the back and handed one to each of them. "Good way to begin the faire, lads." He tucked himself away, grinned and vanished down the tree. Harry leaned over and watched him stride off down the path. Then he looked at the card in his hand. 

Richard was looking at his own as well. "What's yours say?" he asked.

"Owl me if you want what he had," Harry said, flipping the card over to read the name.

"Mine says, "Love to have you again. Owl!" Richard grinned and reached for the velvet pouch which was still attached to his belt. He slid the card inside by feel, without looking. "I might. But he sure isn't looking for a relationship!"

Harry could tell. He dug around until he found his own pouch. They called them purses in the older book Hermione had made him read. He fumbled out a card of his own and bit his lip as he wondered what to write. Finally he wrote, "Thank you. You know what for. Owl me?" He wanted to say something about thanks for being his first that way, but he knew what would happen if the press ever got hold of that sort of thing.

When he was finished, he found Richard holding out a card to him, and so they exchanged cards. Harry took a quick look as he tucked it away. "Let's stay in touch," it said.

Harry smiled and said, "What was the spell?"

"Oh, the clean-it-up spell? You have to learn that! It banishes seed," Richard explained as he began putting his clothing back on. Harry followed suit somewhat reluctantly. "A long time ago...hundred years, I guess, some man kept the seed of somebody important and took it home to his sister, who used it to make a baby and then claim her child was the heir. There was a big fight and people got killed. So some use magic and some use those Muggle things. Condoms. Have you seen those? They have them in the toilets this year. The spells, you use them over and over and they sort of...chafe, so some men use the sheaths and then it's all in a tidy package to incinerate.”

As they spoke the two of them were making their way to the path and walking back towards the pavilion. As they approached the row of vendor tents his new friend made a pleased sound. “Of look! Almost all of them are open! Excuse me, but I just must go to Snape's. He makes the very very best oil and sells out so early!

Snape's?

Yes, the last book on the row had the canvas rolled up and a miniature potions shop was revealed. Standing behind the green counter was his former Potion's teacher. Who had never, ever looked like this at school. His working robes were a deep green, and showed splashes and spatter from making potions, but they were cut to accent his figure in the way that his teaching robes had been designed to hide it. The sleeves were pushed up, but not too far. He had a well scrubbed look, his hair was clean and tied back at the nape of his neck. 

In front of the shelf-like counter were several customers eagerly pushing forward, so that Snape's attention was on them. And so Harry had a minute to take note of his own elevated breathing and odd excitement as a wealth of possibilities thundered through his brain. All the vendors had to be of the persuasion to attend, which meant that he suddenly saw the man as Available. He had not known until that very moment that he was at all interested in tall, dark and surly. Despite his recent tryst he felt himself reacting, wanting, wondering. Then panicking. What if Snape already had someone, or wouldn't want a former student, or.... 

More men were lining up at the counter. How was he even going to be able to talk to him?

The impulse came to him and he moved forward, going around the line to the side entrance of the booth, which was actually a thick velvet curtain. He ducked into the booth and as Snape turned, frowning, Harry said, “You're busy. What should I do to help?

Snape's eyes went wide, but he wasted no time arguing. “Activate the cushioning charms on the boxes and when I hand you an item, place it in the box, put the box in a sack and hand it to the customer when I point him out. Do you think you could manage that?” he asked with his trademark sarcasm. 

“I think so,” Harry said with a smile, and got to work. He hadn't been hexed, his offer to help was accepted, and for Snape, that was practically a welcome. And maybe, just maybe, Snape would be amenable to a different type of offer, later.

Harry was very very glad he had come to the faire.


End file.
